


Five Year Wait

by CorvusCorvidae



Series: Quinntana Week [4]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/F, One Shot, Quinntana Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 20:26:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorvusCorvidae/pseuds/CorvusCorvidae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana expects Quinn Fabray to be exactly like her father: a strong apartheid supporter with white supremacist views. She couldn’t be more wrong. AU. One-shot. Quinntana Week Day Four: Historical Time Period.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Year Wait

**Author's Note:**

> Any historical inaccuracies, I apologise in advance for. And honestly, I don’t like this one bit. I was really having trouble, and this is what came to mind. Not my best, so I’m sorry.

*0*0*

Standing on the edge of the property line, Santana took a deep breath and closed her eyes, letting the sun soak into her skin, welcoming this moment of reprieve. Despite the political state of the country itself, South Africa was beautiful. She always thought it would be, from the days of sneaking a look at the brochures her mother brought home, and all those shows on TV proclaiming that South Africa was the place to be.

It was, Santana noted, but only if you were white.

That’s why they were there. That’s why she had flown half way across the world; as part of a crew that intended to interview and film a leading apartheid supporter, Russell Fabray, and to learn his views on the current change within the country.

Santana was meant to be the one interviewing Mr. Fabray, but he had taken one look at her and one look at her crew and promptly declared her second in command as the head of the team. Brittany Pierce was perfection in his white supremacist views. Blonde hair, blue eyes, Dutch ancestry, the girl was the cream of the crop.

On the other hand, Mike, Puck and Santana were like something the cat had dragged in. Immediate distaste could be seen on Mr. Fabray’s face when they entered his home. He didn’t want them there, he didn’t like them there, and if this wasn’t bolstering his ego, Santana suspected that they would be asked to leave.

She could have argued with the man, insisted that she lead the interview, but it was clear she wouldn’t get any answers from him. Making the smart decision so this wasn’t a wasted trip, she handed the reins over to Brittany, and took a back seat.

A back seat meant that after the cameras were set up, and Brittany had been prepped for the first round of questions, Mike, Puck and herself were shown from the house. Mrs. Fabray had told them to explore, to film the premises because it was beautiful. Mike didn’t want to leave Brittany alone, so sat in the car, messing about with the equipment, and Puck spotted a few of the Fabray’s employees so went to talk with them.

Santana was the only one who took Mrs. Fabray’s suggestion to heart, and that’s how she found herself combing their land, their fields and crops, with no direction in mind. She had no clue how long she’d been out there, with nothing but a water bottle strapped to her waist and sunglasses to protect her eyes from the glare, but it didn’t matter.

The peace and quiet was an escape from everything she’d witnessed since landing.

In her hometown, where racial divides were common, coming to here, experiencing apartheid in action, was like a step back in time. Santana had witnessed her fair share of racism, but the segregation was hard to swallow. It was the 1980s for crying out loud, and they still had segregated parks, hospitals, schools, graveyards, only to name a few.

But no, the eyes and the ears of the world were now on South Africa, and that’s exactly what Santana was doing there. This piece was to show how the politically powerful, like Russell Fabray, controlled the country, regardless of the human rights violations that were widespread. She hoped it would help people wake up and stop doing business with such a country, no matter how breath-taking said country was.

That was the intention, anyway. Whether it worked out like that was yet to seen.

Hearing a commotion behind her, the sound of jumping and panting, and elated laughter, Santana turned, only to be met with the sight of three dogs, and one of Russell’s daughters. She recognised her from the family photos lining the house.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know anyone else was out here,” the blonde said, suddenly catching sight of her.  “Are you…are you meant to be here?” she enquired, throwing a look over her shoulder towards the house. It was quite far away, but still visible in the distance. Whether she was worried about her safety, Santana couldn’t be sure.

“Yeah, I’m with-“ Cutting short, Santana eyed the three dogs that now had their gaze trained on her. They hadn’t paid her much attention until she spoke, and now she wished she hadn’t.

They were huge, standing up tall, broad across the shoulders, their coats as dark as the clay on the ground, and their eyes unwavering. Santana didn’t dare move. She knew what white farmers like Russell Fabray would train their dogs against, and her skin complexion wasn’t exactly making this any easier.

“They won’t hurt you,” the blonde said, walking forward to put them all back on leads. Santana didn’t want to point out that if they wanted to run, they’d just drag her behind them. “Come on,” she muttered, petting the backs of their heads as she approached. It seemed to lessen their guarding stance, and their bodies didn’t look so intimidating as they came closer.  

“I’m Quinn,” she said, holding her hand out.  Santana eyed it carefully for a moment, shooting a quick glance at the dogs, and then reached out. Thankfully, there was no volatile reaction, just a low growl, which was quickly stopped from one tug of the leash.

“Santana,” she said, shaking Quinn’s hand, before stepping back. Recognition lit up Quinn’s eyes and she smiled brightly.

“You’re with Brittany, here to film us or something?” 

“Yeah, I’m with Brittany. We’re interviewing your father, and your lifestyle.” That was probably the politest way Santana could put that.

“Mum said you were on the property, but I didn’t know you’d be out this far.” Quinn cocked her head to the side and awaited a response, which just confused things further.

Santana’s initial thoughts of the Fabray daughters was that they were going to be exactly like their father, strong in his apartheid views, reluctant to talk to anyone who wasn’t white, and definitely not touch anyone whose skin didn’t match their own. Already she was surprised, and she didn’t know what to make of that.

“I got side-tracked. Your property is beautiful.” She shrugged her shoulder, feeling uneasy, but she didn’t know why.

“Yeah, it is. Sometimes I forget how gorgeous it really can be.” Biting her bottom lip, smiling happily, Quinn shook her head and then reached down to unleash the dogs. They were pretty pleased to be set free and went bounding into the ground, sending up red dust clouds. As long as they were a good ten feet from Santana, she didn’t care what they were up to.

“So, Santana,” Quinn began, as if trying her name out on her tongue, “what exactly are you filming? I know you want to see our lives, but why?” She genuinely looked curious, and it made Santana wonder how much she knew of the world outside South Africa.

“Your father’s a very important member of society,” she prefaced, leaning back against the fence, watching as Quinn came to stand next to her. “His views are taken seriously, and he isn’t shy of sharing them.”

 “That’s great and all, but you didn’t answer my question,” she chuckled under her breath and when she looked back up, she raised her eyebrows for the real answer.

“You ever been abroad?” Santana asked, instead, running her fingers over the wooden fence.

“I attended a private school in London. If you’re asking am I well versed on the world, yes I am. If you want to know whether I follow my father’s opinions, no I do not. If you’re here to show his hatred and racism for what it is, I’ll not stand in your way. I just want an honest answer so I know whether or not my mother and I should leave before the mobs come to hunt us down.”

It was a startling statement, and Santana swallowed the lump in her throat. Quinn had spoken so blasé, so nonchalant as if this was an everyday thought. It was as if she knew her family was on the wrong side of history, and despite that, she wanted to protect them as best she could.

“How old are you?” Santana wondered, looking her over once more. Her face still held the innocence of youth, but her eyes spoke of years of experience.

“I’ll be twenty one next month,” she answered, running a hand through her hair. The blonde locks were golden in the sunlight, and Santana was powerless against admiring her beauty.

“And do you intend to stay in South Africa?” she wondered, curious to see if such a girl that had experienced the outside world would want to live in a repressive society.

“Not for long,” Quinn answered, shrugging her shoulders. “South Africa is my home, is my love, but even I get scared on the nights they’re burning down towns and protesting through the streets. Our laws are wrong and the whole world knows it. The only people who don’t are those like my father.”

She was looking out over the fence, eyes on their neighbouring fields, with pensiveness deep in her eyes, and it had Santana’s mind abuzz. She couldn’t help but wonder what it must be like for Quinn, and then it had her wondering what her father made of her views.

“Does he know you disagree with apartheid?” she asked, phrasing that question carefully so she didn’t risk unexpected backlash. Her interviewer mind was tuning in, buzzing with thoughts about putting Quinn in front of a camera, in front of a microphone, and hearing her views. But first, she had know where they stood exactly.

One could be against their father, but not against the system.

“No, not yet. It’s not something I can bring up over dinner now, is it?” Quinn teased, trying to turn the situation light again.

“I guess not,” Santana responded, and she watched as Quinn stood up straighter, as if putting on a mask again, before stepping back from the fence.

“Well, I’ll leave you to your walk. You might want to start heading back towards the house soon. These three are well trained, but my father has a kennel round back, and he lets those dogs run free over the land to protect us. You’ll want to be inside by then,” Quinn said, giving Santana another smile. She took a few steps away, and then turned round, with Santana’s eyes on her the whole time. “If you want, you can walk back with me?”

Santana definitely wanted to, she wanted to ask more questions, see what she could find out about Quinn, but there was always a risk.

“You won’t get in trouble?” There was no point beating around the bush. Quinn’s parents didn’t like her because she wasn’t white, so there was no doubt in Santana’s mind they’d be furious to learn that Quinn had been conversing with her.

“My parents are caught up with Brittany, they won’t even notice.”

Well, that seemed to be a good enough reason, and Santana nodded, moving off the fence to walk beside Quinn. The dogs that had previously been a threat were completely over her presence now, and it brought a small smile to her face.

“Are the dogs yours?” she asked, wondering why they were kept separate from the ones in the kennels.

“No, sadly not. They’re my aunt’s. She lives in London, I stayed with her when at school. She’s visiting us right now, and she brought them here for the winter.” Santana nodded in understanding, leaving it at that, but Quinn wasn’t done. “So to answer your unspoken question, they’re not trained to attack non-whites on site,” she finished, a sad smile on her lips as she made eye contact.

“Sorry,” Santana muttered, rubbing the back of her neck, looking down at the ground quickly. “I wasn’t trying to say…I didn’t…”

She was meant to be professional, get the information and leave. Insulting Russell’s family wouldn’t help her at all, and she should never have enquired in the first place.

“Relax,” Quinn said, shaking her head. “You’re not the first person to make such assumptions. I’m used to it.”

That thought saddened Santana, making her frown. From what she’d heard, Quinn was not like her father, and yet she was being painted with the same brush. How hard must that have been for her? How hard must that still be for her, to be living back there? Even her name, Fabray, held power in the apartheid community.

Not wanting to overstep any more boundaries, Santana kept her thoughts to herself, and the rest of the walk back to the house was in relative silence. Quinn did ask the odd question now and then, but it didn’t expand into a bigger conversation. Santana had wanted to learn more, ask about the small things in Quinn’s life like if she was going to university, what books she liked, what movies she enjoyed, just to learn more about the girl, but with the setting sun and the end of another day, maybe it was best she held off. There would always be tomorrow.

They had agreed to be with the Fabrays over three days, learning and seeing more about their life, before heading home. It should be enough time to learn what they needed, and at least long enough to come up with something to show the world of Apartheid South Africa, and how people like Russell Fabray were benefiting from foreign investment.

On arrival back at the car, Santana stepped ahead of Quinn to talk to Mike. He watched her approach with a small smile on his lips, and after dumping the wires he was detangling in the back, he stepped out the vehicle.

“How’s it going?” she asked, nodding towards the house.  

“Good. I checked  in once or twice, and Brittany’s doing well. You’ll be proud of her. She’s got him talking about Soweto, if you can believe it. And even Steven Biko’s death. This man is painting his own parties downfall with views like this.”

“You got him to talk about Soweto and Biko?” Quinn asked, sounding surprised.

The Soweto uprising took place five years ago, and Santana had been sickened to her stomach to learn of over five hundred deaths, and thousands of injuries at the hands of the police. One of those that were there that day was Steven Biko, who sustained serious injuries and was left to die in a jail cell. He lived, but the following year he was arrested, tortured, and subsequently died. It woke many up to the horror of the regime, but not necessarily on a worldwide scale.

Mike looked at Quinn in surprise, as if seeing her for the first time, and he glanced at Santana, silently asking her what to do. She decided to let him off the hook, not wanting him to think he’d royally stepped in it with his views, and turned back to Quinn.

“Should we not have asked him about Soweto and Biko?” Santana asked cautiously.

“No, his views are very strong, very bigoted. I just wasn’t expecting him to discuss that,” she replied, rubbing her hands together anxiously.

“He likes Brittany,” Mike added, as if that cleared things up.

“Still…that doesn’t suit him,” Quinn murmured.

“Should we be worried?” Santana asked, and Quinn looked at her startled.

“No. He might be racist, but he wouldn’t let harm come to you. That would look bad on the government, and he’d never allow that. Anyway, it was nice to meet you, I must go.” Quinn bid them goodbye, and headed in the house, leaving them by the car.

“She seems…different,” Mike murmured, and Santana hummed in agreement.

“She is.” Though, Santana was still stumped as to how given the girl’s parents.

Not giving it any more thought, she told Mike to fetch Puck, and they’d plan things for the following day before winding Brittany down. It was getting darker, and she didn’t want them hunting to find their hotel in the dark. With the expansive land around them, they’d probably get lost, and God only knows that would be a nightmare for them.

*0*0*

The following day, the group returned, and Santana gave Brittany everything she’d need for the day ahead. Puck and her were going to be with Russell at his work, and possibly interview him again depending on what issues arose. The footage they captured would be vital in showing how American businesses were aiding the apartheid regime, funding their economy, and allowing white men to get rich off the backs of non-white’s labour.

Once they left with Russell, Mike and Santana were allowed to film the land again, having told Mrs. Fabray that they’d scouted the best locations earlier. She seemed content to let them go, and as Mike set up the equipment in the car, Santana went looking for Quinn.

It might be pushing her luck, but she was hoping to speak to the girl again. Last night, Santana had thought about the contrast between father and daughter, and with Quinn’s permission, she wanted to interview her. It was probably a longshot, considering it would mean going on record against her family, but Santana didn’t let that stop her.

The Fabray’s housekeeper was kind enough to fetch Quinn for her, and the blonde came into the entry hall with a book in hand, and a bemused look on her face.

“You wanted to talk to me?” she asked, and Santana nodded, briefly biting her lip as she looked round the hallway.

 “I came to ask if I could film you,” she said quietly, in case Mrs. Fabray was still about.

“For what?” Quinn was frowning, but there was still a smile playing on her lips, and that was enough for Santana to see this wasn’t a terrible idea.

“Your…your opinions differ from your father’s and I want to learn more about that,” she answered honestly, hoping Quinn would be open to the idea. There was a moment of pause, and then she nodded.

“Okay, but not here, not in the house. Take a walk with me?”

Agreeing, Santana followed Quinn through the kitchen where she readied the dogs Santana had met the day before, and they set out. Having a quick word with Mike, Santana directed him, with Quinn’s assistance, to the property’s edge, where they had been yesterday. He drove ahead of them, saying it would take time to set up, and with that, Santana and Quinn were free to take it slow.

The blonde was in a much more inquisitive mood, Santana found, as they walked, enquiring all about Santana’s life, where she studied, where she grew up, and what countries she’d travelled to. It put them both at ease, and Santana found herself enjoying Quinn’s company. She really was nothing like she had expected. It was with Quinn’s next question that this statement became even more accurate.

“Are you and Brittany a couple?” she asked out of the blue, and Santana almost face planted the ground.

“Excuse me?” Where the hell had she gotten that idea from?

Santana had been exceedingly careful, knowing the government’s stance on homosexuality, but yet Quinn didn’t seem fazed by her question. Her mind was boggling with what had even hinted at her sexuality, but she was drawing a complete blank. There hadn’t been anything to suggest she wasn’t straight.

“You’re close with her…I just assumed…”  Quinn answered, and Santana thought back to the previous day. She wasn’t overly affectionate with Brittany, she merely enquired how the girl had handled the interview. How had Quinn jumped to that conclusion?

“We’re friends,” Santana answered, and Quinn took a second to watch her expressions before smiling.

“But you used to date her,” she said, and Santana stopped in the middle of the path.

Her whole body was tensing up. She wasn’t comfortable having this conversation, not knowing what it might lead to. Homosexuality was still illegal. This wasn’t exactly a topic she wanted to discuss with someone she didn’t trust exceedingly well.

“Quinn-“ she began, but the girl stopped her, coming over to stand a few feet away.

“I’m not homophobic. My father is, and I know right now this country has restricted views on homosexuality. But I’m not him, Santana. I have no problem with homosexuality.”

“What even makes you think that I’m…” she said, shaking her head. She couldn’t finish the sentence. It felt like too big a risk.

“Gay?” Quinn finished, raising her eyebrows in question, as if that had been no trouble at all. “It was just a suspicion. You…you look at Brittany with this longing, like you’d protect her from anything. I know that look, and it’s so much more than just being friends with someone.” She stopped to allow her words to sink in, and then moved closer. “Am I wrong?” she asked finally.

Santana didn’t know how to reply. She thought she’d gotten better at hiding the affection she used to have for her co-worker, but apparently not. And for someone like Quinn to see it, someone related to Russell Fabray, to witness that, Santana knew she needed to be more careful. Quinn might have only been guessing, but that was quite an accusation to make if wrong.

“Her name was Rachel, and she kissed me when I was fifteen, outside this horrible little restaurant in London. She was staying over at mine for the weekend, allowing her time out of the boarding house, and we went out to have some fun. It was a date, as I later found out, and it was one of the best I’ve ever had, because when she kissed me, I just knew why everything else had felt wrong,” Quinn admitted, rendering Santana speechless.

“She was the first girl I ever fell in love with, but every first love is doomed, as they say. She went back to America, and I pretended it never even happened. There were a few other kisses along the way, but I could act like it was nothing. Except yesterday, this gorgeous woman appears before me, and that rush and euphoria from my first kiss was back, and she hadn’t even touched me.” She paused, licking her lips and taking another step forward, effectively bringing her toe-to-toe with Santana. “Maybe I was projecting my sexuality on you, maybe I just wished you were. If that’s true, I’m sorry,” she whispered, but Santana found herself shaking her head.

“You were right, but you’re…we could end up in jail,” she stressed, not knowing the full extent of the laws in South Africa, but certain they didn’t agree with it.

“That’s if they find out,” Quinn murmured, her hand reaching up, cupping the side of Santana’s face. It had her leaning into Quinn’s touch, but she knew this was wrong. It was too dangerous, especially with the likes of Russell Fabray on the premises. Santana couldn’t, as much as she wished she could, she just couldn’t.

“I can’t,” she said, stepping back, out of reach. “I’m sorry. I can’t risk it.”

Quinn looked hurt for a split second, before looking at her in understanding, as if she expected as much, and it was enough to have her chest aching. Turning away from Quinn, Santana began walking again, and it was a few seconds later before she heard the girl follow.

Their jovial mood from before was gone, and they arrived in silence where Mike had set everything up. With the camera ready, and a few warm up questions, Quinn pretended like nothing had happened. Santana tried to do the same, but all she could think about was the flash of disappointment, and she regretted her actions almost immediately.

The interview was successful, and Santana found that Quinn’s views were drastically different to that of her fathers. She believed in human rights, in acceptance and facing adversity together. She even willingly spoke about Soweto and Biko, and her views were in line with the anti-apartheid movement. It was captivating watching her come to life as she spoke, and it cemented Santana’s frustration at the current situation they were in.

If they had only been somewhere else, somewhere that didn’t lock up homosexuals, didn’t try to ‘cure’ them, then Santana would have risked it. She would have kissed Quinn right there and then.

That was the lasting thought she had as the blonde gave her a wave and headed back off to the house, leaving Mike and Santana to pack up their equipment and drive back. It was just one of those ridiculously unfair moments in life, and Santana shoved down all her emotions, locking them up inside so she could deal with them when she was back home.

She should have been used to it by now, but it wasn’t exactly every day she was propositioned for a kiss, and especially not from a girl like Quinn. No, this she would remember for a long time to come.

*0*0*

On the third and last day, Santana only saw Quinn briefly, to bid goodbye. It was nothing detailed, as Russell and his wife were both present, talking to Brittany animatedly. But it was enough of a goodbye to air the thoughts that had been clogging her mind the night before.

“If I had met you on the street in San Francisco, or Paris, or London, I would have asked you to dinner, and I would have kissed you goodnight,” she confessed, with Quinn and her standing a little off from the rest of the group, their voices low. “You have no idea how much I wish these circumstances were different.”

“I’m actually certain I do,” she replied, and Santana couldn’t hold her gaze any longer.

“Our film should be broadcast within the next month. I suggest that you’re away from your father by then. Maybe even out the country by then.” Honestly, Santana couldn’t stand the thought of anything happening to Quinn, and with her outspoken views, it would incite a backlash no matter what.

“Thank you,” Quinn answered, bowing her head. “Take care, Santana.”

“You too.”

There was nothing more said, and Santana and her crew got back into their car and drove off the Fabray property without a look back. It made her feel empty inside, as if she had just lost something important, despite the fact it was never hers in the first place.

She didn’t know what was going to happen, but she suspected she’d never see Quinn Fabray again. The girl was destined for so much, Santana could see that a mile off, and this encounter probably wouldn’t even register in the girl’s mind a month from now.

It would still be in Santana’s, however.

*0*0*

Five years later, the Comprehensive Anti-Apartheid Act was enacted by Congress, and Santana finally saw the results she had been after. Those three days of filming hadn’t been wasted, and while they hadn’t influenced the government’s decisions, they had stirred up support. People had rallied and protested American companies getting rich off the apartheid, and it had generated talk, which was all she was after.

As hard as she tried, Santana didn’t manage to keep tracks on what happened with the Fabrays. She heard that Quinn had gone on to further her education, but that was all. Russell was still a strong political member, but it looked more and more like his voice was one of radicalism than anything else. Times were changing, slowly but surely.

And they had changed for Santana, too.

She’d relocated, finding herself working for an international charity based in London. The city did inspire her every now and then to think of Quinn, but those thoughts were short lived. She needed to live in the here and now, rather than the past.

But sometimes, the past catches up with you. Literally.  

“Santana!”

She had been heading home after work, having just gotten off the tube and back outside in the rain. It was a normal walk, on a normal day, but that voice was anything but normal. It had her freezing on the stop, getting knocked and brushed into by those trying to squeeze past her.

“Santana!” Turning at the familiar voice, she saw a girl she was sure she’d never see again, and it was like being hit with a tidal wave of repressed emotions.

Quinn was smiling brightly, umbrella high above her, keeping her dry, as she darted through the people in their way. She looked as stunning as she had five years ago. Her hair was still golden and cascading over her shoulders, her eyes alight and captivating, and her presence sealed Santana’s fate. There was definitely a reason she never could forget one Quinn Fabray.

Coming to a stop just in front of her, Quinn sheltered Santana from the rain and let out a laugh. “I can’t believe it’s you,” she said, and Santana found herself smiling in return.

“I didn’t think I’d…What are you doing here?” she asked, unable to process the fact that this was even real. It felt like a dream, one where she was damp and cold but a dream none the less.

“I’m back at university, staying with my aunt, still. The one with the dogs?” Quinn answered.

“I remember.” How could she forget?

“You look phenomenal. As gorgeous as I last saw you,” Quinn said, full of charm, grinning brightly, her smile far outshining that of the rain around them. It had Santana’s stomach fluttering and a familiar warmth radiating across her chest.

“You too. You look…” God, Santana was a mess. She could hardly form a coherent sentence around this girl. Quinn seemed to take her lack of words as a compliment and laughed.

“That good, huh?” she teased, and Santana felt her cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, I’m surprised, that’s all.”

“But is it a good surprise, or a bad surprise?” Quinn wondered, her smile slowly calming.

“The best surprise,” Santana answered honestly, knowing that this was not an opportunity to waste. She had said goodbye to this girl once, she couldn’t do it again. “Do you…are you busy right now?” she asked, and Quinn bit her lip playfully.

“Are you asking me on a date?” It was bold but they weren’t in South Africa anymore. They weren’t surrounded by an apartheid government. They weren’t in a country where homosexuality was illegal.

“Yes,” Santana replied, stepping a little closer, remembering her words when they’d parted.

“Then I’m not busy right now,” Quinn said, biting her bottom lip. “Though, can I make one request?”

“Hmm?” she hummed, raising her eyebrows curiously.

“You said if you had met me on the street in San Francisco, or Paris, or London that you would ask me to dinner, and then you would kiss me goodnight. I was wondering if you would kiss me hello, take me to dinner, and then kiss me good morning.” There was no mistaking her intentions, and it had Santana swallowing away the sudden dryness in her throat, and licking her lips.

“I think we can do that,” Santana murmured, nodding, only to receive an elated smile from Quinn.

It had Santana smiling in return as she made that final step to bring their bodies together. Quinn wobbled the umbrella briefly, and she shook her head in embarrassment, but it was far too endearing for Santana to think otherwise.

With another smile, she cupped the side of Quinn’s face, pulling her down towards her, and leant her forehead on hers. Inhaling Quinn’s breath of exhale, Santana was transported back to the fields of South Africa, with the red clay beneath their feet and the sun beaming above them. She could smell the rich intoxicating scent that was entirely Quinn, and she nuzzled against her, closing her eyes to just reconnect to this woman.

It had been so long, and it was almost nothing.

Edging closer, her lips ghosted over Quinn’s, and then she pecked them softly, once, twice, three times before accepting the euphoria rushing through her system, making her heart pound in her chest and her knees weak as she kissed her properly, feeling Quinn’s lips brush against hers, softly, carefully, and skilfully.

There was no rain, no hustle and bustle of the commuters around them, but simply Quinn’s lips against hers, her tongue edging out to caressing Quinn’s, moaning quietly at the taste of the other woman, sweet and innocent but hot and passionate. It had her sucking in breath between each kiss, not willing to move away just yet, and then she felt Quinn smiling against her lips and was powerless to fight smiling back.

“Better than I ever imagined,” Quinn whispered, and Santana hummed in agreement. “Definitely worth the five year wait,” she teased, but she was right.

It was. It had freedom and safety on its side, ensuring them there would be no jail time, no punishment for finally acting on the feelings that had formed so many years ago; the very ones that were igniting every nerve on fire and making Santana’s heart soar.  

It was to be the first kiss of many, Santana was certain of that.

And she was right, as four years later, she sat curled up on Quinn’s couch, watching Nelson Mandela being released from prison, and it was with a kiss Quinn asked her to move in with her.

Then four years after that, when the final apartheid legislations were stripped from South Africa and Nelson Mandela became president, it was with a kiss Quinn put a ring on her finger as a promise for the future, theirs together.

In the grand scheme of things, five years was nothing, but also everything.

*0*0*


End file.
